Foreign Body
by shoreleave
Summary: It takes a long time for Ziva to find her place at NCIS. Ziva's POV, following the main events of each season.
1. Silver War

**A/N: **I've always felt that Ziva was a largely misunderstood character. So here's my attempt at putting myself in her shoes, starting with "Silver War," when she joins the NCIS team.

This will be a multi-chapter story. Happy to hear your comments and suggestions.

* * *

"Miss David will be with us for a while," Gibbs announces curtly, sounding more than a little displeased. Ziva ignores the questioning look Agent Dinozzo gives her, and walks determinedly toward the empty desk in the corner.

Gibbs grabs her backpack, jerking her back unceremoniously and nearly toppling her over. "That's Kate's desk," he growls, not even glancing in her direction. "Yours is down at the end."

She's not surprised when, a moment later, Dinozzo meanders past her desk, head buried in a file, a smirk on his lips. He's obviously enjoying the way Gibbs put her in her place.

It's clear he doesn't want her here. He said as much before Gibbs arrived, then tried to harass her, or maybe just tease her, by offering her that erotic magazine to read while she waits. He's an arrogant ass, but the joke was on him when she waved her Hebrew-edition copy right back at him. She's happy to imply that she bought it herself—he probably doesn't know the first thing about Israeli women, and a little misdirection and innuendo can go a long way—but the fact is, she borrowed it from the guy sitting next to her on the flight. She was bored and curious, and the articles really _were_ pretty interesting.

But she needs a friend in this new position, if Gibbs' less-than-welcoming tone is any indication. So she accepts Dinozzo's unspoken invitation, and joins him near the copy machine.

"He's a tough one to read," she comments, still reeling from her conversation with Gibbs in the elevator. They had a brief moment of honest communication, and then he smacked her on the back of her head, gave her a quick, mischievous grin, and strode out of the elevator with an angry scowl on his face, without a backward glance at her. It was definitely the strangest work interview she'd ever had.

"You'll find most NCIS agents are like that," Dinozzo says. "It's our training."

"Is that a fact?"

He nods sagely, as if he's letting her in on a big secret. "We never let other people know what we're thinking."

She has to resist an urge to roll her eyes. Her English isn't perfect, but she has no trouble reading body language, and most Americans are like an open book to her. Take this Special Agent Dinozzo, for example. Right now he's standing close, looking directly at her, edging into her personal space. He's using a soft voice that's supposed to convey confidentiality, while at the same time he's trying to intimidate her.

But he's inadvertently showing his nervousness in the way his fingers are fidgeting, tapping the file he's holding; in the tightness around his mouth. He's unsettled.

_Tov me'od, _she thinks,that's just fine. She gives him a sassy smile. "You're thinking of doing page 57 with me."

He gives her an embarrassed smile as if she's caught him out—he really has a gorgeous smile, she has to admit, with beautiful white teeth—but she knows he's not thinking about sex right now. He's trying to figure her out.

She's not going to make it easy on him.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

Ziva's shunted aside, forced into an observer role as they start investigating their first case, a Marine's body and his cell phone that have mysteriously shown up in a Civil War casket. She watches how the men work the crime scene, of course, but mostly she observes her new co-workers.

She's appalled by the way Dinozzo goofs off, posing with the stuffed grizzly bear while McGee dutifully takes pictures. This isn't the military discipline she's used to. McGee grumbles half-heartedly a bit, but doesn't really object. Dinozzo seems unconcerned when she tries to suggest that they do something, well, _investigative_.

But he's all business when Gibbs comes back, snapping to attention and reporting the facts succinctly. She's impressed, despite herself. Dinozzo's efficient and thorough, and he exudes confidence. Why, then, is he putting so much energy into this immature display? Does he _want_ his colleagues to think he's unprofessional? It doesn't make any sense to her.

Even McGee has something to report, but Ziva's feeling marginalized and uncomfortable. The men are treating her like a sort of unwanted guest that they've been told to play nicely with. And Jenny might be able to force them to work with her but she can't make them accept her.

So Ziva takes the initiative and asks to drive the truck on the way back ("It might make me feel as if I actually accomplished something today"). Maybe that will help break the ice.

_Aizeh tzokim_, what a riot. It works even better than she'd hoped. She loves to drive and she's got great instincts, even if she doesn't pay much attention to the speed limit. After all, she honed her reflexes in Tel Aviv, a city known for its congested streets and aggressive drivers. So she sweeps through the D.C. streets, whizzing around the slower cars and taking the occasional overly-wide turn just to make the tires squeal. It's fun.

Dinozzo complains, yells, and insults her driving the whole way, while McGee sits frozen, staring wide-eyed at the street in front of them. He's a little too meek to say anything directly to her, apparently content to let do the talking.

"Slow down or I'll puke on you," Dinozzo threatens.

She gives him a smug smile. Time to step up the game. "So Tony," she says, deliberately using his first name, "why don't you like the American Civil War?" She wants to keep him unbalanced, figure out who he really is.

McGee becomes animated for the first time, offering, "It's because of his father."

Tony turns on him. "She talking to you, probie?"

Ziva nods as if she's intrigued by this enticing tidbit. She needles Tony a little about his relationship with his father, but there's a hurt undertone in his responses. Definitely a sore subject, she thinks. It occurs to her that it's not really McGee's place to reveal something so personal about Tony. Maybe McGee has a mean streak.

McGee watches Tony squirm, then turns back to her. "What about your father, Deputy Director David?" His tone is innocent. "What's he like?"

Her lips tighten. _Ben zona…_ McGee's a bastard, all right, trying to stir things up between them. Instead of answering, she takes them on a slalom course through the next intersection, weaving briefly into the oncoming lane, just to see if she can get a rise out of McGee.

"Ziva, car! Car! Car!" McGee shrieks, his hands clawing at the edge of the seat. He lets out what might be a whimper, and she feels a twinge of satisfaction. He deserves it.

Afterwards, she makes a brief, insincere apology, making up a story about being on assignment in the UK for the past six months. McGee looks ill, and Tony leans forward and makes good on his promise to puke.

She's definitely accomplished something, but she's not sure what.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

By the end of her first day, she's been cold-shouldered by Abby and been on the receiving end of countless disapproving stares from Gibbs. She's crawled through piles of fertilizer and dirt, and been befriended—sort of—by McGee, of all people. "I'm glad you're here," he tells her shamelessly. "Now it means I'm not the newbie anymore." Just great.

Then, to top it all off, she and McGe get pushed into a water fountain, losing the map from the safety deposit box to an armed thief. At least that gives her an opportunity for her to show off some of her skills for the first time, as she manages to reconstruct the map from memory. McGee looks duly impressed, although Tony just laughs at her in her borrowed NCIS sweatshirt.

Gibbs doesn't say anything, but later on, he lets her have her weapon back. So she counts it as a win.

When they arrive at Manassas Battlefield Park in time to watch the reenactment, Tony seems subdued, and again she has the feeling that beneath the cocky, joking exterior he's a lot more vulnerable than he likes to let on. True to form, McGee hones right in on it: "Bring back memories for you, Tony?" She's not sure if he's trying to hurt Tony on purpose, or just oblivious to his discomfort.

It's almost like McGee is trying to bully Tony, which makes sense to her, in a way. McGee is a probationary agent. So naturally he's fed up with being treated with less respect on the team, and having to do all the thankless tasks and dirty jobs. But that's how it is in the military. Tony's the _pazamnik_—the one with more time on the job, more experience, better training—and McGee's still fresh-faced and naïve. So he probably resents Tony… and is just waiting for someone like her to vent his frustration on legitimately.

She sighs. She's an officer in the Mossad and it's been a long time since anybody treated her like a _tironit_. But she can suck it up if she has to. She's here to do a job.

And she does. She helps them take down Dr. Burns and manages to save Ducky in the process. Tony gives her a look of wary respect—"Remind me not to piss her off"—and that's just fine with her.

"So you agree, I can be useful?" she asks him, on the ride back.

"What, you mean, can you throw a knife?" he scoffs. "Sure. So can I. Handling weapons is only part of the job, Zee-va. We're _investigators_. From what I've seen, you've got a lot to learn in that department."

"I will learn," she states. "I am not afraid of hard work. I'll do whatever needs to be done."

"Oh, _two_ probies!" he crows, looking delighted, although she can sense an undercurrent of tension in his words. "I feel like I've just won the NCIS lottery!" He frowns. "Of course, that's a lot of responsibility for the senior field agent. I'll have to make sure both of you experience all the aspects of investigative work, give you all the tools you'll need. Canvassing neighborhoods, combing through old public records, filling out forms… We do have a _lot_ of forms, you know. We're a federal agency."

_L'azazel._ She hates administrative work. "Tony, I'm sure there are things that you won't have to teach me. I do have _some_ exper—"

"-and driving lessons," he says emphatically. "You definitely need some _supervised_ time behind the wheel. We do have things such as speed limits and street signs here in America that you're supposed to be aware of."

When he turns away, drumming a short riff on his desk as he slips behind it, she allows herself a little smile of satisfaction. Things might work out here after all.

That night, she stays around until everyone's gone home except for Gibbs. She waits for him quietly at Kate's desk.

"I don't think she'd mind," she tells him, and while Gibbs doesn't agree, he doesn't object, either. It's her way of saying that she's here to stay.


	2. Under Covers

**A/N: **Based on the episode "Under Covers."

* * *

She's off to a terrible start.

Ziva's beginning to realize these people just don't like her. It's not the language barrier, even though Tony, in particular, seems to delight in correcting her idiomatic mishaps. She works as hard as they do and she sometimes has valuable insights. She knows sometimes she can be a little too outspoken, overstep her boundaries, but she knows when to toe the line. She tries to downplay her nationality, because she could tell it annoyed them when she mixed in a word or two in Hebrew, or commented on how they do things differently (better, she usually implied) in Israel. So she tried to blend in.

It isn't helping. More and more, she's getting the feeling that it's just something about _her_ that doesn't strike them right.

Back home, she always felt comfortable in the male-dominated military environments. She likes to tease and flirt and have a good time. Here, though, maybe they think she's too aggressive. Or maybe they just don't trust her because she's Mossad.

Or maybe the team was a tight-knit family before she arrived, and they don't need or want her intruding. As much as she tries to brush the feelings aside, to focus on the job and stay professional, she can't help but feel… rejected.

Gibbs hates her. Tony thinks she's full of herself. Abby can't be bothered to get to know her because, as McGee finally explains, she seems to think that would make her disloyal to Kate.

There are unwritten rules they all seem to know, and she only discovers them when she breaks them. _Don't be late. Never assume, always investigate. When Gibbs says "With me," jump up immediately even if you're on the phone with the Director. And if the Director asks about a case, just chat about the weather. Follow Gibbs' instructions no matter what._

Everything about Gibbs is a contradiction. A headslap is to be avoided at all costs, but it's also a sign of affection (which she, apparently, doesn't merit yet). Gibbs keeps Abby happy with enough Caff-Pows to fuel a raging caffeine addiction, then snaps at her to stay focused when she gets hyperactive and starts babbling about something irrelevant. And there's always a kiss on the cheek for her in the end, but rarely a word of praise for Tony, even though he works ridiculous hours and falls all over himself to please his boss.

Well, in one way, at least, Gibbs is consistent: he's almost always annoyed with her. When she tries to make conversation, he ignores her. Small talk, apparently, is a waste of breath. And he never seems to find her suggestions helpful—or anything other than glaringly obvious—even though she's had years of experience as a Mossad operative.

"Takes a while for him to warm up to people, doesn't it?" she asks Tony once, in exasperation.

Tony's probably not the best person to ask, as he stares morosely at the cell phone Gibbs has just tossed into his coffee cup. "Wanna know how to get on his good side? Me too."

It's a small consolation that Gibbs doesn't seem to like Tony, either.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

Going undercover with Tony is actually fun, at first. She likes the adrenaline rush of pretending she's someone else, getting into character, and improvising her lines. It's a chance to take center stage on an NCIS case, for the first time. She doesn't even mind groping Tony under the bedsheets. It's kind of a challenge, having fake sex that looks real enough on the infrared, but doesn't burn McGee's retinas on the surveillance cameras.

To tell the truth, Tony's a great kisser and his hands know just how to caress her (on her shoulders, the back of her head, her cheek, her feet… never anywhere else). He smells good and he looks good. They might be keeping a layer of clothing between them, but she can tell that he knows how to move.

It might all be for show, but when she flips them so she's on top, there's nothing fake about his interest. Of course, she knees him in the groin for that—she has no intention of letting things get out of hand, after all—but she gives him an apologetic kiss. No hard feelings. After all, he can't help it.

She's not uptight about sex. It's natural and fun. Sure, the situation's a little odd, since she has to spend hours lying next to her co-worker half-naked and intimate, but they're only acting. Tony dives into his role with ease, obviously getting a kick out of playing a highly-sexed assassin with a taste for luxury. He snacks on the complimentary cheeses, lounges around in the white fluffy bath robe he finds in the closet, and tries out the sound system.

"Honey bun, I'm in the mood for a bubble bath. Why don't you order some champagne from room service while I run the water?"

Even she can hear Gibbs' furious squawk through Tony's earpiece. Tony blinks, then says, in a sulky voice, "Uh, on second thought, darling, maybe we'll skip the champagne."

After that it's back to bed for them. Ziva draws the line when he tries to regale her with the plots of porn flicks he's watched ("Sweet cheeks, we don't want things to get too predictable between us, do we? Porn can be very therapeutic in a marriage."). Gibbs interrupts again in an outrage, reminding them that they're "married assassins, not visiting the Playboy mansion!"

She pretends to be annoyed, but she's enjoying herself for the first time since she joined NCIS.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

Then it all goes to hell.

They're intercepted on their way down to the lobby. Minutes later, they're tied back-to-back in a third-floor room, their ear pieces smashed and their communications jammed, being asked about a disk that they've never heard of. Marcos is in front of her, and a blond giant of a man is standing somewhere behind her, near Tony.

"No one leaves this business," Marcos tells them, "and never threaten the people who employ you."

"Should I be writing this down?" Tony asks flippantly. Ziva flinches when she hears the slap of flesh on flesh and Tony's hiss of pain, but Tony's still hoping for a laugh: "I take that as a no."

_Shtok kvar_, she yells at him in her mind. _Shut up already._ Why antagonize the man?

She tries to draw Marcos' attention to herself, telling him they don't know about any disk, but that only earns Tony another punch. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she continues coolly, "How much is our disk worth to you?"

The next blow draws a harsher grunt of pain from Tony. She can feel his body shudder against hers.

Marcos approaches her, looking down on her emotionlessly. "I have a better question. What's it worth to _you_?"

She doesn't answer, and Marcos doesn't seem to expect her to. He nods to the man behind her. Ziva hears three quick punches in rapid succession, punctuated by Tony's stifled moans. Finally, out of the corner of her eye she watches the thug raise his leg and kick out at Tony's midsection. There's an unmistakable _crack_ of a rib breaking, and something that sounds almost like a sob.

She's a trained operative. Outwardly, she doesn't react. But her mind is whirling, desperately trying to find a way out of this trap. Gibbs must be looking for them, and it's only a matter of time until he finds them. She needs to stall somehow.

But then Marcos shows her the Peruvian blade, twirling it in his hands so that the light glints off it. Her heart plummets down to her toes. A man who keeps a knife like that, who describes with such pleasure how the blade is so sharp "some people don't even feel the initial incision," isn't planning to leave it unused in its box. He's going to slice one of them to pieces. Maybe both of them.

Marcos leaves them alone, presumably to "consider their options," although she's fairly sure he's just taking a moment to firm up the plans with his two thugs of how they're going to kill them and make their escape. Still, it's a momentary reprieve and she breathes a quick sigh of relief.

Before she can even voice her concern for Tony—he's not breathing well, not at all—he's whispering urgently in her ear. "I might have a plan," he grits out, his voice strained and thin. She's taken aback; how in God's name has he come up with a plan while he was being beaten half to death? She certainly didn't have the wits to do it.

"You're going to tell them it's in our hotel room. The only way they'll find it is if you show them. McGee should be waiting for us in there."

_Ein matzav_. There's no way she's going to let him die just to save herself, so Tony's plan is out.

She tells him his plan has a flaw, since he's likely to be shot (or cut to ribbons) the minute she leaves the room, but she doesn't have anything better to suggest.

Tony doesn't waste a minute when Marcos comes back, obviously not trusting Ziva to follow through on her own. "The disk's in our hotel room," he wheezes. "She has to show you. You'll never find it without her, even if you kill us."

She hates him, right then. He didn't even give her a choice.

Then she's being led out of the room, furious and impotent, leaving Tony behind.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

It's only minutes later that she's racing back down the third-floor corridor, trailing after Gibbs and McGee. When they reach room 356 they can hear shouts and something crashing, and Gibbs wastes no time breaking the door in.

Tony's in the midst of a violent rant, still strapped to the chair, kicking the big blond's face in. "How does that feel? Huh, big guy? You wanna punch me again?"

"_Maspeek!_" she blurts out. She hurries over to him, laying her hand on his shoulder to try to get through to him, using the time to get her brain back in gear and thinking in the proper language. "Enough, enough, Tony! I think you made your point."

Tony whirls around, his eyes wild, blood dripping from his chin, chest heaving. "I want a divorce," he announces. Gibbs looks amused and relieved, but Ziva's pretty sure he wasn't trying to be funny.

She's not sure whether to hug him or slap him.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

Hours later, she's helping him into his apartment despite his protests. He's groggy from the pain meds, zoning in and out, mumbling something about needing some sleep and he'll be fine.

She just shakes her head and slowly, gently, maneuvers him out of his clothes. She sucks in her breath when she gets her first look at his bare chest mostly covered in clean, white bandages. He's got two broken ribs, a badly bruised jaw, an orbital rim fracture, and twenty-eight sutures in three deep lacerations along his abdomen and chest. Just this morning, they were lying together on the bed while she made a show of massaging his broad shoulders and teased him about his hairy chest.

"We're not married anymore," he slurs, making an uncoordinated attempt to push her away. "I c'n do it, Ziva, leave me alone."

Well. That's the problem, isn't it? He wants to do it alone, doesn't trust her enough.

She says nothing, tries to keep the tension out of her hands. This situation is all wrong. She shouldn't be forced into the caretaker role, shouldn't have been coerced into cooperating with Tony's stupid plan in the first place. They were supposed to be partners, equal partners. But he sacrificed himself for her, almost died for her, and now he's beaten and hurting while she's completely fine.

"Come on, Tony, you need to get to bed."

"You should go home." When she shakes her head, he gives her a wry grin. "Gibbs is making you stay, right?"

"He asked me to keep an eye on you tonight," she admits. _You don't budge from his side_, is what he actually said. "But it's no trouble to me, Tony. I want to do it."

He seems subdued, preoccupied, as she helps him into his bed, dressed only in his boxers. To her surprise, his bedroom is clean and tidy, the sheets fresh. She'd have laid odds he'd have dirty clothes strewn all over the floor, dishes in the sink. "This is a nice apartment, Tony. It looks comfortable."

He gives a little laugh. "You don't have to sound so surprised. I'm not always a pig."

"Maybe you just don't spend a lot of time here," she says, a little more sourly than she meant to.

He blinks up at her, frowning, and she looks away. Even exhausted and doped up, he's way too observant, or maybe she's not as good at hiding her feelings as she thinks she is.

"You're pissed at me, Zee-va. Not sure why, though."

"I'm not angry with you."

"I know, I know… Shouldn't have made you give me that massage…" He looks mournfully apologetic, and she has to suppress a smile. Ducky warned her before she left that Tony was "particularly sensitive to narcotic analgesics," and she's beginning to see what he meant.

"I didn't mind, Tony. And anyway, you gave me a foot rub in return."

"Don' usually go undercover in a five-star hotel." He smiles dreamily, closing his eyes. "Had to make the most of it."

"Why did you tell Marcos that I knew where the disk was?" she asks suddenly.

He's quiet, and she thinks he might have fallen asleep. But then he says, eyes still closed, "That was the plan. We agreed—"

"No! _I_ did not agree. I told you it was a bad plan, that you would be shot the minute I left. I was going to tell him that we'd hidden the disk in the lobby…"

Tony shrugs. "Wouldn't have gone for it."

"I could have told him that you'd swallowed it!"

Tony's hands curl protectively over his abdomen. "Yikes. Wouldn' want that Peruvian blade digging around in my stomach."

She huffs. "I _would_ have thought of something else, but you didn't give me a chance. We are _partners_, Tony! You cannot sacrifice yourself for me and expect me just to go along with it!"

Tony sighs, opens his eyes, and glares at her. "I'm the senior field agent, Ziva. Senior, get it? That means you do what I say. Like it or not, that was the plan—"

"It wasn't a good plan!"

"It was all I could think of and I didn't hear you coming up with anything better!"

"Tony," she says slowly, "you cannot order me to stand by and let you sacrifice yourself for me."

"Oh yes I can, Officer David." He lets his eyes slide shut again. "'s called the chain of command. Maybe you've heard of it." She purses her lips, looks down. "Pretty sure they must have something like it in the Mossad, too."

She scowls. That's the heart of the matter, she knows. Deep down she's too independent, too argumentative, too often convinced that she knows best. It's always gotten her into trouble.

"Gibbs might have mentioned it," she concedes with a sigh. "Um… I think there's a rule about it."

"Rule seventeen. Don't bypass the chain of command. Or maybe nineteen… Gonna ask him tomorrow."

"I should not have allowed you to get hurt."

"Don't take it so hard, Ziva. Next time you can be the one that gets the shit kicked out of you."

"Good night, Tony." She leans over to kiss his forehead, changes her mind, and kisses him gently on the lips instead.

Tony's eyes pop open, a question written in them.

"Thank you," she says simply. "You were very brave to do what you did."

"Wanna share the bed with me? It's more comfy than the couch." He winks, then groans, pressing a hand to his swollen eye socket. "Ow."

"I don't think so, Tony. You're not exactly up to any exertion tonight. And besides," she shrugs, "you asked for a divorce."


	3. Boxed In

**A/N: **Coda to the episode "Boxed In." Things aren't going as well as Ziva thinks they are.

* * *

Gibbs tells her she has trust issues and they're getting in the way.

He doesn't say so outright, but she gets his meaning. When McGee claims—rightfully so, as it turns out later—he shot the police detective in that alley after he was shot _at_, she doesn't believe it. They can't find the other gun or a bullet or identify the "dark SUV" McGee says was there. She's sure it's just _kastach_; he's covering his own ass.

She's so irritable Gibbs has to pull her aside. "McGee isn't your father, and he isn't Ari," he murmurs, just for her ears. "He doesn't know how to lie."

_I thought I wasn't supposed to assume anything_, she almost says. But doesn't.

Her attitude doesn't earn her any points with Tony, that's for sure. He spends the rest of the afternoon glaring at her for daring to express her doubts.

"This is a waste of time," she complains as they search the alley.

Tony doesn't even look at her. "If Gibbs says search the alley again, we search the alley again."

"You never question anything he asks you to do, huh?"

"Nope."

Wonderful. Blind loyalty has never been her strong suit.

Gibbs seems to be convinced it's his job to point out her weaknesses and make her work on them. When she says she hates fashion models and isn't very good with women in general, he makes her interview them. He pushes her into interrogations with no preparation and won't let her use her favorite techniques (which are, unfortunately, illegal at NCIS). Whenever she brings up a reasonable objection to one of his orders, he piles on more bureaucratic busywork, just to make a point.

But little by little, she's becoming a better agent, more important to the team. Ducky's unfailingly courteous to her—which, granted, is exactly how he treats everybody else, but at least it's pleasant—and she's made friends with Jimmy Palmer. Abby even gives her a hug, once, when she finds McGee's stray bullet imbedded in the alley wall.

On the other hand, things aren't going so well with Tony. The bond they forged during their undercover assignment has faded. In fact, she feels like she's starting to know him a little _too_ well. After hours of observation, she's concluded that he's a good investigator, yes, but vain, superficial, inappropriate, and immature. Everything's a joke to him. He humiliates McGee on a regular basis. McGee might be too easy-going and intimidated to stand up to him very often, but she's outraged on his behalf.

She doesn't let Tony talk to her that way; she keeps him in his place. She doesn't buck his authority, not really, but she lets him know she's not afraid of him.

But all in all, she feels like she's finally settling in. She wants her co-workers to get to know her better—that is, the co-workers she thinks might be potential friends—and making a nice home-cooked meal seems like a good way to do it.

The worst part of living in America, she's discovered, is the food. Plentiful, processed, and tasteless. Fresh fruits and vegetables are expensive. It's easier to buy ready-made foods in cans or frozen than to make a decent meal. Supermarket aisles are endless, stuffed with a million kinds of junk food and soft drinks she can't stand.

In Israel, it's just the opposite. Ethnic cooking is a prized skill, and fruits and vegetables are locally grown, fresh, and cheap. Ziva grew up helping her mother prepare a weekly feast every Friday, for the Shabbat meals: cooked vegetables salads with carrots, beets, eggplant, cabbage, and tomatoes; homemade _challot,_ the sweet braided bread for the blessing; fish in spicy tomato sauce for the first course, oven-baked chicken and potatoes for the second; cakes and cookies for dessert.

She invites McGee, Jimmy, Abby, Ducky, and Gibbs to her dinner party. It's a big success.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

The next day she and Tony get bolted inside a container and she realizes she may have made a mistake.

Several mistakes, if she's honest. But it takes her all day before she really realizes how badly she's screwed up.

At first she's furious with Tony's stupid blunder, blaming him for getting them locked in the metal box in the first place. Logically, she knows it isn't really his fault. They needed to find cover in the firefight and he couldn't have known they'd be trapped inside. But she's not feeling particularly kindly toward him to start with, she's a little defensive about not inviting him to the party, and, well, sometimes she shoots her mouth off when she's feeling helpless.

(And… maybe the idea of being locked in a cold, dark container brings up associations for her as a Jew that terrify herl. But she doesn't share that with Tony.)

Turns out Tony's not feeling particularly friendly toward her either, but he does keep calm. Maddeningly calm, in fact. He does movie impressions, makes lewd comments, and cracks jokes, same as always. He's got a deep-seated trust Gibbs will find them.

There's that trust issue, again; maybe Gibbs has a point. She's not at all sure they'll be found.

Over the next few hours, she develops a grudging respect for Tony's abilities. He's the one who notices the space inside the container is smaller than its outside dimensions, and he knows immediately the money they find is counterfeit. He even figures out how to rig an antenna for his cell phone out of a plastic DVD box and her _magen david_ necklace, just like MacGyver on that American TV show she used to love.

She, on the other hand, fires off her weapon and nearly gets them both killed. (Stupid, stupid, stupid!) It makes her feel a little better when he makes a bad call of his own, filling the container with thick, oily smoke when he burns a pile of the fake money. He coughs a lot after that.

But as their situation grows worse, Tony seems determined to get under her skin. "So how does one wrangle an invite to a dinner at your place?" he asks, and for a minute she thinks he's actually hurt she excluded him. But then he reverts to form, makes fun of McGee and Palmer, and changes the subject.

Within minutes he's maneuvered the conversation back to two of his favorite subjects, movies and sexual fantasies. "It's all about hot women and brave men to you," she says in disgust. "Anything deeper and you shut it down."

"You never talk about yourself," he counters. "Why is that?"

"Maybe I like a little privacy."

She refuses to play his stupid games. "Give me something. Happiest moment? Most embarrassing moment? …Okay, I'll tell you mine."

"We're not sharing," she says coldly, and eventually he gives up.

They're hopelessly outgunned in the ensuing firefight. There are a few tense moments and then a last-minute rescue. By the end of it, Tony's wincing, breathing heavily, and favoring his right arm; she assumes he scratched it on the edge of the crate they were hiding behind, or caught a splinter. More to the point, if she doesn't find somewhere to pee, she's going to explode.

Kicking that asshole, Lake, in the balls - it makes her day.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

Before Tony heads off to the emergency room to get himself checked out, she makes a peace offering: a ride home, and then dinner. It's the least she can do after their long day together, and he _is_ her partner.

Naturally, Tony turns her sincere invitation into a joke ("I'm thinking something along the lines of 'Babette's Feast,' Zee-va, a real French dinner with the meal as a metaphor for sexual indulgence…") but she can tell he's pleased.

She spends the next few hours with Gibbs in interrogation. She finally gets back to their office just in time to watch Abby squashing Tony in an enthusiastic hug, heedless of his wounded arm, now bandaged and immobilized in a sling.

Tony lets out a yelp of pain and Abby immediately lets go, looking horrified. "Oh my God! Are you okay?"

"Gunshot."

She whirls on McGee. "Why didn't you tell me!"

McGee scoffs. "It's barely a scratch."

"Oh, poor baby! Who's going to drive you home?"

"I am," Ziva announces. "I'm making him dinner tonight." That earns her a heartfelt Abby-hug.

Abby gushes over Ziva's cooking, and even Gibbs, striding into the office with his usual stealth, admits "it wasn't bad." McGee's nodding in agreement.

Ziva beams. NCIS is beginning to feel like home.

Then she sees Tony. He's glancing around at them all, a little confused. For a moment, a look of understanding and hurt flashes over his face. Then it's gone, and his expression shutters closed.

He doesn't say a word, just settles into his seat and opens a file on his computer.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

She watches Tony surreptitiously over the next hour as he pecks at the keyboard with his left hand. It's not like him to be so quiet; normally, he'd be regaling McGee with exaggerated tales of his bravery and begging for sympathy for his war wound. She supposes he's just tired.

At one point, Gibbs steps up to Tony's desk. They exchange a few words which she can't hear, but afterwards, Tony seems more relaxed, smiling to himself. He did well today, she thinks; maybe Gibbs finally gave him the "good job" he's always waiting for.

She finishes printing out her report, stands up, and stretches. It's getting late. "When would you like to leave, Tony?"

He doesn't look up. "When I finish this report."

"The report can wait," Gibbs tells him, shutting down his own computer and switching off his desk light. "Been a long day. You ready to go, Dinozzo?"

"Right with you, boss."

"But…" She looks from Tony to Gibbs, confused. "I said _I'd_ drive you home tonight!"

"I'll take care of him," Gibbs says firmly. "Tony, you up for a steak?"

The two men exchange a look she can't read.

"Uh… Guess I'll take a rain check, Zee-va," Tony tells her with a quick smile. "I'm pretty tired, anyway. Meet you in the parking garage, okay, boss?"

He hurries over to the elevator, and she's left standing there with Gibbs. She's annoyed. Hurt, really. Gibbs has no right to intrude like that.

"I was planning to cook Tony dinner," she says, letting the irritation creep into her tone.

Gibbs gives her an appraising look. "You really don't get it, do you, Officer David?"

"_What_ don't I get?"

"You don't see what's right in front of your face."

She huffs out a frustrated breath. "I don't understand what you mean."

"He doesn't want your leftovers."

"I was planning to cook him a nice meal—"

"He knows the rest of the team was there."

She purses her lips, looks away. "I did not intend to hurt his feelings. It was just a social occasion. It doesn't have anything to do with our work relationship."

He shrugs. "You can invite whoever you want to your dinner parties. Hell, I don't care. But if you think Tony won't mind if you leave him out on purpose, you don't know him very well."

She sighs. "I think he's overreacting. But… I will apologize to him. It won't happen again."

"You're missing the point," he says impatiently. "But then, you miss a lot of things, don't you, Ziva?"

She stiffens. "I am a trained observer. I think you have the wrong impression of me."

"No, _you're_ the one who's got the wrong impression."

He's talking about Tony, of course. "I am entitled to my opinion."

"Sure you are. And I'll admit Dinozzo doesn't make it easy to see beneath the surface, but there's a lot more to him than meets the eye."

She rolls her eyes. "I just spent all day locked with him in a metal container. I think we know each other pretty well by now."

Gibbs snorts. "But you still don't have a clue who he is."

"Maybe I just see different sides of him than he shows you!"

"And maybe you should think about what that is!" He holds up his hand, cutting off her protest. "Stop arguing, I don't wanna hear it. Here's the bottom line. If I don't see that you can fit into this team—_all_ of the team, not just the parts that you happen to like—I'll have you transferred, and I don't give a crap what the Director thinks about it."

Gibbs' voice is soft and even, like he's just stating the facts.

Her throat is swelling. She has to force the words out. "All right. I will consider what you said."

Gibbs nods, then leans over to pitch his next words right at her ear. "By the way, I heard you telling McGee Tony scratched his arm on a wooden crate. But it was a bullet graze. No stitches, but it's a pretty unpleasant wound." He pauses. "Which you'd have known, if you'd asked him."

When he leaves, she sits down at her desk in the gloom. She hasn't felt this homesick in a long time.


	4. Jeopardy

**A/N:** Just to clarify... This isn't a Ziva-bashing fic. The opposite is true; I'm trying to flesh out her character, explain why she comes off as so abrasive and unsympathetic in Season Three.

I think she's conflicted and insecure, despite the confidence she's trying to convey. She's from a foreign culture. And she's trying to find her place in a tight-knit team that's just come off a traumatic loss and doesn't want her there.

Takes place after "Jeopardy." Comments and suggestions are welcome!

* * *

She's been naïve, thinking she would ever really fit in at NCIS.

After the dinner party disaster, she needs to refocus. She's not here to make friends; she has a job to do.

She stops holding back, stops hiding her knowledge. They don't have to like her, but they'd better respect her. And it can't hurt if they're a little afraid of her.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

"You know what I like about coming to work on Sunday?" Tony says a week later, looking ridiculously out of place in his grass-stained football jersey. "It offers us the unique chance to get a glimpse into the private lives of our co-workers."

_Nudnik._ "Except I have no interest in your life," she retorts, not caring if she comes off a little cold. She's going to keep her distance—especially from Tony—from now on.

But he's nosey, trying to guess what she's been doing: "Yoga? Pilates?"

She's fairly sure that's a veiled insult, so she makes a show of peeling off her gloves and unrolling the bloody bandages wrapped around her hands and feet.

He steps closer, wrinkling his nose. "Whose blood is that?"

She pauses for effect and then shakes her head sadly, as if in regret. "Not mine." The blood actually came from Rick, the kickboxing instructor at her gym, the victim of an errant blow in his intermediate-level class. Ziva happened to be nearby, working on the punching bag, and rushed over to help stop the nosebleed. The blood got all over her hands.

But Tony doesn't need to know that. She mentions something about martial arts. Tony takes the hint, giving her a wary look and changing the subject.

It's something she learned in the Mossad. A little misdirection, a few vague hints, and people will usually draw the conclusions you want them to.

Let them think she's some sort of assassin, a sort of cross between James Bond and G.I. Jane, a ninja spy with a violent streak. As long as they see her as having indispensable skills, they'll understand they need her on the team.

She puts her plan into action. She becomes Ms. Tough Israeli, using a sharp knife to clean her fingernails nonchalantly in the middle of a case, ignoring Tony's look of dismay. She hints to McGee that she routinely tortures suspects, or as she puts it, "I prefer simpler ways of handling things."

"Are any of those ways legal?" McGee looks vaguely nauseated, but she doesn't explain about Israel's High Court and the severe restrictions it places on the use of "moderate physical pressure" except in cases of ticking time bombs. If he thinks she's slightly deranged, so much the better.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

She starts flaunting her Mossad skills. She opens locked car doors and handcuffs faster than Tony can, even when he's holding the key. She makes use of Interpol contacts (and other, unspecified secret contacts) when they need fast information. When they're searching for the North Korean agent, Yoon Dawson, she tells them what she'd do if she were in Yoon's place: "By now I've changed by appearance, I've replaced my identity with back-up documents and I've relocated."

She can tell they're a little disconcerted, Gibbs especially, when she calls Yoon's baby girl "an occupational accident." So she's not sentimental or particularly maternal, either. So what?

Gibbs still doesn't seem impressed by her, and doesn't appreciate most of her suggestions. He expects instant obedience from her, no matter what the circumstances. She's getting used to hearing remarks like "It's not a suggestion, Officer David," or "It's not up for debate, Officer David."

He doesn't trust "Officer David," no question about that.

When she and Tony refuse to leave the area while Yoon disarms the bomb, she tries to explain: "Gibbs, we're a team. That's what we do." Maybe he'll start realizing that she's loyal to the team, loyal to him.

But all Gibbs says is, "If either one of you two wingnuts ever disobey a direct order again, I'll kill you myself."

He's absolutely livid when he catches them exchanging theories with Jenny when she comes sniffing around the bullpen for information on the Danforth case. First he marches them up to the Director's office to make sure Jenny gets the point—_Don't invade my turf_—and then he turns on them.

"Ziva caved first," Gibbs announces in disgust.

He's pissed with all of them, even with Tony, his "loyal St. Bernard." (At least he doesn't call Ziva Jenny's poodle, she thinks with relief.) But despite his shouting about how they need to solve the case, he doesn't give her a new assignment. Tony's sent to impound Danforth's car and McGee heads down to Abby's lab.

"And I'm with you, yes?" she asks, hating the fact that he always makes her feel like the outsider, like a fifth wheel.

"I don't know, Ziva. _Are_ you?"

So her plan isn't working very well… but it's better than waiting for them to start liking her. She was too vulnerable before, when she wanted their friendship. Now at least she's self-reliant. It's safer.

But then Brian Dempsey dies in her arms in the NCIS elevator, and she realizes that her plan may have backfired.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

"It was just a little love tap," she tries to explain to Gibbs. "Choked him up for a couple of seconds, that's all."

He's not buying it. He won't let her resign, either—okay, so it was a dramatic gesture, she should have known he wouldn't like it-which means he's going to do this by the book.

She doesn't say so, but what she really wants is for Gibbs to reassure her. She wants him to express his confidence in her, to headslap her, to protect her if necessary. But he seems so angry and distant, he probably wouldn't hesitate to send her to prison, if she can't prove her story. The thought sends a cold shudder down her spine.

Tony doesn't seem particularly sympathetic, either, and he certainly doesn't declare his faith in her innocence. He taunts her, asking where she learned her "Vulcan death grip," and making jokes at her expense until she's tempted to punch him, the damn _tembel_, just to relieve her frustration a little. But that would just reinforce what he already thinks, what everybody's thinking: that Officer David wouldn't think twice before killing a suspect because he was uncooperative and annoying.

She knows she's got a quick temper, and they've all seen that. Her father always used to tell her she had a _ptil katzar_, a short fuse. It's just part of her temperament. She heats up quickly, and cools down just as fast, no harm done.

Except now, she's built herself a reputation of a lit powder keg, and it's exploding in her face.

She tries to keep up a brave face, begging Gibbs to let her into the field to help with Jenny's kidnapping (he doesn't budge), and brushing aside McGee's attempts at consolation. But she's worried.

She's so uptight that she finally breaks down in Autopsy, in the face of Ducky's calm courtesy. "Everyone's avoiding me! Do they think I'm going to lose control, just enter the building and massacre everyone?" Ducky's eyes are sympathetic, but he doesn't deny what she's said.

She knows she didn't hit Dempsey hard enough to kill him. She can't be wrong about that.

In the end, Ducky rules it death by natural causes, an aneurysm that could have been triggered by anything.

Such as a love tap to the jugular.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

Gibbs doesn't say much afterward, just "Officer David, you're back on regular duty." But he gives her a small smile and a nod, which, for him, is like a wide grin.

It helps her realize the gruff demeanor he's been showing her all day hasn't been an expression of anger at her, as she thought, but _worry_. He's been deeply worried about her.

She takes a deep breath, feeling the relief fill her lungs. "Finally! Thank God. Thank you." She feels the prickle of tears at the corner of her eyes, and turns away, not wanting him to see.

There's a sharp _thunk_ on the back of her head, making her blink and flinch. Gibbs has just headslapped her.

"What was that for?" she asks, bracing herself for the admonishment that's sure to come.

"For doubting me," he says in a quiet voice that seems to pierce right through her. "For not trusting your team."

"I do trust you," she objects. "I knew I didn't hit him that hard."

He shakes his head. "If that were true, you wouldn't have tried to resign. You should have stood your ground."

She's quiet for a moment, then blurts out, "Well, I could feel that everybody was accusing me! Blaming me. They all believed that I was out of control and violent enough to murder that boy just because he was irritating!" She looks away, adding, "And if that's true, I'm not sure I want to work in such an environment."

"And who's to blame for that, Officer David?" he asks, giving her a knowing look. "You are! I've been watching you. You're the big, bad Mossad officer. You clean your teeth with a Bowie knife and sleep with an M16 under your pillow, isn't that right?"

She can feel the disdain in his tone. "I have a military background, Gibbs. I'm not comfortable when I'm not armed."

He snorts. "Is that your excuse? Tony's a cop, he's worked vice and homicide, but you don't see him dropping hints about his undercover ops and walking around with a police baton."

She doesn't say anything, mortified that she's been so transparent to him.

"You're trying too hard, Ziva," he tells her, not unkindly. "Ease up. Relax a little. Stop trying to prove how tough you are. You've made your point."

"I didn't realize I was being so obvious…" she mumbles.

He just quirks an eyebrow and grins. "I was just paying attention."

She sighs. "I have made a real mess of things."

"So start cleaning it up! You don't have to compete with Tony. You've got different skill sets and you can learn from each other. And McGee could use an ally in the field." He pauses, then whispers confidentially in her ear, "You could try hanging out a little with Abby down in her lab, you know."

"I don't think she really wants me there."

"Bring her a Caff-Pow and see how it goes."

The last thing Abby needs is more caffeine, she thinks, but she gives him a small smile. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to try."

"The team won't trust you until you stop with this act. So quit trying to be something you're not."

She bristles. "And what _should_ I be, then?"

"Yourself."

Herself? She's not even sure who that is, anymore. She's gotten so used to hiding who she really is, blending in, taking on new identities, she's not sure who Ziva David is anymore.

As if reading her thoughts, he adds, "You're a member of my team. _My_ team," he emphasizes. "Don't forget it."

"I won't." She can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "I'm sorry for being so much trouble."

It's the wrong thing to say, and it breaks up the moment. "Don't apologize, damn it!"

But Gibbs is smiling to himself as he heads off toward the elevator, and so is she as she gathers up her things.


	5. Hiatus

**A/N: **This segment alludes to a relationship between Ziva and Tony, although there's nothing explicit.

Coda to "Hiatus."

* * *

She visits Gibbs in the hospital, in the dead of night, determined to get him to remember. But it's useless; he doesn't know who she is. It's unnerving to see him like this, so confused and helpless, and they're running out of time.

Finally, desperate to get her point across, she grabs his hand and guides it to the back of her head, slapping herself. It's the Gibbs trademark, and if this doesn't work, she doesn't know what will.

He stiffens, and she knows he's catching a glimpse of something, the trail of a memory. "Ari killed Kate," she prods.

The stricken look on his face drags her back to her own part in that tragedy, so many months ago. _Elohim_, she's been keeping so much inside, so many betrayals and conflicted loyalties.

"I killed Ari," she says, as if she's confessing a crime. It's been killing her, keeping this secret. She killed her half-brother and saved Gibbs' life. It was one of the hardest decisions she'd ever made, but at least it was something they shared. Even when things were at their worst with the team, Gibbs _knew_, and he trusted her to have his back.

But now Gibbs doesn't remember, and she's nothing to him, just "a Mossad officer attached to his team." Not _Ziva_.

He holds her as she sobs on her shoulder. Then, after a minute, he draws in a sharp breath. "You killed your brother," he says, still unsure.

"Yes."

"To save me."

She nods in relief. Yes.

But Gibbs quits. He tells Tim he's a good agent, whispers to Ziva he owes her, kisses Abby's cheek even though he can see she's shattered. All Tony gets is "You'll do," which, Ziva can see, leaves him just as devastated as Abby.

Then Gibbs leaves.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

A month later, on a Friday night, Tony shows up at her apartment unexpectedly, a bag of take-out Chinese in one hand and two DVDs, "Three Days of the Condor" and "Munich," in the other.

"Two great spy movies, thirty years apart," he explains at her questioning eyebrow. "C'mon, you can make fun of everything they got wrong and I can critique the cinematography."

"Why didn't you call first?" she asks, not sure yet whether to be pleased or suspicious. She moves aside to let him in, watching as he places the food on her coffee table and sprawls on the couch. He's wearing jeans and an Ohio State hoodie. "I might've had plans!"

"But you _don't_, Zee-va." He shrugs innocently. "You told Lee you were gonna do laundry and crash early. Oh, and Lee shared her plans to fix herself a scrumptious salad of fresh veggies and stir-fry tofu."

"You eavesdropped?" She pretends to be affronted, although she's trying not to laugh. What Lee actually said was that she was going to make a healthy dinner, but Tony's guess is probably not far off.

"Bring some plates," he says, ignoring her question. "Don't worry, I didn't get pork."

It's more fun than she thought it would be. True to his word, Tony spouts off an unending stream of cinematic facts and trivia. "See those trees? They shot the movie in the fall, but it was set in winter, so they had to defoliate the trees. Redford was real worried about the ecological implications."

"I like this man's ruthlessness," she comments, when Redford decides to kidnap Faye Dunaway. "He's been compromised and he's on the run, so he has to make some hard choices. But that woman is an idiot. She should be screaming and kicking, instead of letting herself be carried off."

Tony scrapes at the bottom of the beef-with-broccoli box with his chopsticks. "Maybe she liked being tied up by Robert Redford. Probably the most exciting thing that's happened to her all year."

The movie ends, and she makes them coffee. "This Turner is unprofessional," she says as she brings in the tray. "For a CIA operative, he's too innocent, too slow to make the connections. And he could have gotten those innocent children killed."

Tony nods. "He comes across a little better in the novel. It was originally _Six_ Days of the Condor. Guess the movie producers thought the American public wouldn't have the patience for three more days."

"You read the novel?" she asks, feigning surprise. "An actual book?"

He sighs, shaking his head. "I'm hurt, Ziva. 'Course I read, when the Cliff Notes aren't available. Actually, for a while there, back in high school, I read every spy thriller I could get my hands on. Kind of a favorite genre of mine."

"Me, too," she grins. "Probably not that surprising, I suppose." The second movie is forgotten as they compare favorite John le Carré novels (she loved _The Little Drummer Girl_ while he's partial to _Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy_), then move on to Tom Clancy, Ken Follett, and Robert Ludlum.

Close to midnight, he scrapes himself off her couch, gathers up his movies, and leaves, murmuring "Night, Ziva," as he closes the door behind him.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

He's away at a security convention the next weekend, but he comes back the Friday after that, and for the next two weeks straight. He always arrives with food and a movie, never announcing his intentions in advance. It's completely platonic. He never tries anything with her, not even a good-night kiss on the cheek.

She can't figure out what he wants from her. Companionship? Team rapport? Maybe he's feeling sorry for her, all alone in a foreign city, and he thinks it's his duty as team leader to be her friend. If he wants something more, he's never hinted at it.

She's not sure what she wants, either. There's no denying the underlying chemistry between them, and she still remembers the feel of his hands on her bare shoulders back in their undercover op last year. She has no doubt he'd be good in bed. But she's not desperate enough to jeopardize their work relationship on a night of fun, and she hopes that's not where he's going with this, either.

Maybe he's just lonely. Being in command is isolating, and he's probably still hurting from Gibbs' abrupt departure.

She misses Gibbs too, but things are better on the team for her now. She and Abby have gradually become friends. Michelle Lee is so annoying, Ziva and McGee have been getting closer in self-defense. But Tony doesn't really have anyone to talk to.

The next Friday in the squad room, as they're getting ready to go home for the day, she comes up to his desk. "Will I be seeing you tonight, Tony?" she asks, as neutrally as she can.

He doesn't look up from his computer. "Up to you, Ziva," he says, as if he doesn't care one way or the other. "Do you want me to come?"

She purses her lips in irritation. These visits were _his_ idea, and if he wants to continue, he can man up and say so. "I don't mind, but I would just appreciate a heading up—"

"_Heads_ up."

"—because if you're not coming, I might go bowling with Abby and her nuns. She has invited me several times."

There. If he's coming because he feels sorry for her, because he thinks she's lonely, she's just made it clear she has other options. If he wants to see her, let him say so.

He glances up at her out of the corner of his eye, considering, then refocuses on his computer screen. "You should go with Abby. You'll have fun. Just be careful with Sister Rosita, she's a bit of a sore loser."

She keeps her disappointment out of her expression. "I don't think she has to worry about _me_. I haven't bowled since junior high."

He laughs. "_You're_ not her competition. Sister Mary Joseph throws a mean hook."

"So… you don't want to come over?"

"Wasn't planning to, Zee-va. Got dinner reservations with Julia from my health club."

She raises an eyebrow. "Julia? You've never mentioned her."

"Sure I have. She's an intern at the Smithsonian." He leers at her. "Very intelligent, very… healthy."

She doesn't believe him. If he had a date, they'd have been hearing about it all week.

She has fun bowling with Abby, but Tony doesn't come back the next Friday. Or the Friday after that.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

Nothing really changes between them at work, but Ziva can feel a subtle distance between them that wasn't there before. In this unscripted dance, she's apparently stepped on his toes. Or kicked him off the dance floor, even. That hadn't been her intention at all.

So she decides to take the initiative. "Tony, are you busy tonight?" she asks the next Friday, as they're on their way to an interview in Georgetown. "I have a taste for Italian. I'm making cannelloni."

He glances sideways at her, and she's pleased to see the flash of surprise cross his face. "Is that a genuine invitation? You're cooking for me?"

"Yes. _If_ you bring the entertainment."

They watch "The Godfather" parts one and two, and part three the week after that.

He kisses her goodnight both times. Just a quick brush of their lips, nothing more.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

For all that he talks incessantly, at work and during their Friday night films, he never says much about himself. He drops oblique hints about his family—never anything warm or positive—and always follows them up with a barb or a joke.

"I used to summer in the Hamptons until I was six," he says casually while they watch Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton in the beach house in 'Something's Gotta Give.'

"Really?"

"Well… after that my parents discovered sleepaway camps. Then it was two months of archery and canoeing for me every summer."

"Seven is much too young to go away alone for two months!" she tells him, shocked.

"Well, you've obviously never been to Camp Evergreen in the Catskills. Two hundred boys, for eight fun-filled weeks. Believe me, I wasn't alone for more than three minutes the whole summer."

They only talk about Gibbs once, during "The Bourne Identity." Watching Jason Bourne, she can't stop thinking about Gibbs and his amnesia.

"I understand why he left," she says suddenly.

Tony gives her a sharp look. There's no need to explain who _he_ is. "Oh, yeah, I get it. Betrayal, frustration, loss of faith in the system." He's quiet for a moment, then shrugs. "As my Dad said once, 'You have your fun, and then you're done. Let the hired help clean up the mess.'"

She frowns, not liking the implications. "And you're the hired help?"

"Actually, I heard him say that to one of my soon-to-be-ex stepmoms during the annual Fourth-of-July bash. I think he was talking about the caterers."

"Tony… he doesn't think of you that way."

He shushes her. "This is my favorite part. Bourne's got nothing but a Bic pen and he still manages to take out this assassin, even though he's armed to the teeth." He leans a little closer to her, drapes an arm around her shoulder. "I think he could even take _you_ on, Zee-va."

"Who, Jason Bourne?" She smirks. "I would never have let him get up after the first blow, and the knife would have been imbedded in his throat before he could find a pen."

Tony looks suitably impressed.

They don't talk about Gibbs again. But that night, things change between them, and Tony stays over for the first time.

It's casual… but it's more than stress relief, more than a one-night stand. They understand each other. And they're both lonely, both isolated, both hiding secrets.

She wakes up to him playing with a lock of her hair, the look in his eyes both affectionate and hesitant. "I'm glad you stayed, Tony," she reassures him.

"I'm not using you."

"I know."

"I'll make you breakfast."

"That would be nice."

He rolls over on top of her, then kisses her gently, resting his weight on his bent forearms. "You know, Sophie, I'm getting a feeling of déjà vu."

She smiles up at him, kisses him back. "Me too, darling," she says, then knees him sharply in the groin, making him grunt. "Remember this?"

He rolls onto his back with a pained groan. "Now I remember why I wanted a divorce."

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

Two months later, Michael Bashan informs her that she's been under Mossad surveillance. They've been watching Tony visit her apartment every week and drawing their own conclusions. "Did you, or did you not, sleep with him?" he demands.

She doesn't answer. Not directly. She's furious with her father, with Bashan, with the way she's been manipulated. And anyway, it's none of their business.


End file.
